And her eyes… she never broke eye contact.
She watched me, her eyes dark with concentration and a fierce, feminine power, as she gave me long, slow, deliberate sweeps. Her tongue traced, tasted, teased. The sight of her lips wrapped around me, the feel of her taking medeeper, was almost more arousing than the physical act itself.
My hands, acting on their own volition, came up to gently cup her head, my fingers tangling in the soft silk of her hair. A silent communication.
Yes.
Like that.
More.
A low, guttural groan tore from my throat, a sound of absolute surrender.
“Christ, Iris,” I managed to rasp. “You’re killing me.”
She hummed around me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body, and I had to bite back a curse. The pressure built inside me, coiling tighter and tighter, an urgent climb. I was close. Too close.
Gritting my teeth, I tightened my fingers gently in her hair and pulled her back.
“No.” My voice was a raw, strained whisper I barely recognized. “Not yet. Your turn now.”
She looked up at me with slick, swollen lips, her eyes dazed with arousal. She just nodded, a slow, sensual dip of her chin, and allowed me to pull her to her feet.
I had to tilt my head to keep from hitting the low cabin ceiling, a familiar motion, but everything else was brand new. I undressed her with a reverence that felt foreign, almost holy. My hands, which had spent a lifetime wrestling with nets and lines and boat engines, were gentle as I opened the buttons on her blouse, peeling it from her shoulders to reveal the simple, pretty lace of her bra. I kissed the warm, smooth skin of her shoulder, then the hollow of her throat, tasting her, breathing her in. Her dress pooled at her feet in a whisper of soft fabric.
I knelt before her, my mouth tracing a path down her stomach, swirling my tongue around her navel and earninga sharp, hitched breath from her. I pressed her gently back onto the bed, the cool air from the A/C unit blowing over my back as I tugged her panties down her long, shapely legs. I parted her thighs, revealing the flesh at her center. The scent of her was the most intoxicating thing I had ever known.
And then I took my turn.
I tasted her with focus and dedication, my tongue finding all the places that made her gasp and arch beneath me. I loved the shape of her, the taste of her, the involuntary sounds she made when I found a particularly sensitive spot. I listened to her body—to the way she gasped, her moans growing deeper, the way her muscles tensed beneath my hands as I held her hips. I experienced her pleasure as if it were my own, a rising tide of sensation that I was both controlling and at the mercy of.
“Austin,” she gasped, her fingers fisting in the bedsheets. “Oh God.”
I answered by increasing the pressure, the rhythm of my tongue quickening. She was close. I could feel it in the way her body began to tremble, in the sharp, staccato rhythm of her breathing. I pushed her farther, higher, determined to give her everything.
And then she shattered.
Her back arched off the bed, a sharp, piercing cry tearing from her throat as a wave of pure, convulsive pleasure ripped through her. Her release was a victory, a powerful, stunning moment of connection that left me feeling tremendously possessive.
I moved up onto the bed beside her as the aftershocks of her orgasm still trembled through her body. Her skin was flushed, her eyes dazed and unfocused, her lips parted on soft, ragged breaths. She looked completely unraveled, utterly beautiful, and entirely mine.
She turned her head on the pillow, her gaze finding mine as she reached for me. “I need you now.”
I found my wallet and retrieved a condom. As I tore open the packet, Iris took it from me. Her fingers were deft and sure as she slowly, deliberately rolled it on, her warm touch a silken torment that nearly sent me over the edge.
“Easy,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “I want to feel every second of this.”
I was throbbing so fiercely I could barely think, a raw, aching need that was a physical pain.
We fell back onto the berth together, a blending of limbs and urgent need in the cool, conditioned air of the cabin. She parted her legs, welcoming me as I positioned myself between them. I looked down at her face, at the trust and undisguised desire there, and pushed into her in one deep, slow thrust.
Her gasp was a soft, breathy sound against my ear. The feeling of being inside her, so hot, so impossibly right, obliterated every coherent thought. There was no past, no future. No Heron House, noLine Dancer. There was only this. Only her.
The rhythm we found was slow and deep. Deliberate.
I pushed in.
She met me, her hips rising from the mattress.
